The Set Up
by all-mirth-no-matter
Summary: Dean gets a call from an old hunter buddy of his to help with a case, asking him to get information from a witness. Under the rouse of her blind date he meets Emma. But when events start to change, Dean finds out he might have been set up in an entirely different way than he was expecting. Can he help Emma with something from her past coming back to haunt her? Or is it too late?
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: A Swanchester AU set during a dull point in season 8 of Supernatural after the Winchesters discover the bunker. And it's set a few years after the Once Upon a Time pilot where Henry fails to show up at Emma's apartment door. Based on a photoset I made on tumblr and I wrote a bit more, so I decided to share it on here. Mainly because it's more organized lol. I own neither show nor their characters. Enjoy!**

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Dean stood at the hostess stand, waiting for the witness to show up. A hunter buddy of his phoned him up a few days ago, requesting help on a particular job just a few hours from the bunker. Work had been going slow, so Dean decided to stop by and help. After all, Buck had saved his ass once before. So when he called and asked Dean to go undercover, under the rouse of the witness's blind date to get information, Dean felt like he owed it to the guy.

Dean only had a description of the woman who had apparently seen a ghost in her office building. She was medium height, blonde with curly hair. But that was all he knew. And her name, of course.

A few women fitting the vague description had walked into the restaurant, but were soon accompanied by a date or companion. He was getting frustrated, she was late.

"Dean?"

He looked up and met the eyes of a gorgeous woman fitting Buck's description, wrapped up in a tight pink dress and heels. She was hesitant with her question, until he smiled.

"Emma?"

A smile of relief spread across her face as Dean held out his hand to exchange a shake.

"You look surprised," she said nervously, but a playful tone laced in her voice.

Dean realized he was surprised, and his face wasn't hiding it well. He wasn't expecting such a pretty witness, and he had to force himself to remember that he was here on a job and she was a part of that. But, on the other hand, what was the harm in having a little fun on the job? He had to be convincing, didn't he?

"Buck just forgot to mention how pretty my date was." Her cheeks flushed slightly, and she dropped her eyes in embarrassment. "They have a table ready for us, if you'd care to have a drink?" he asked with a charming smile and head tilt.

She looked down, laughing coyly as she nodded and let him lead her towards their table.

They sat down and Dean knew that it was best to start with the preliminaries, but he felt like he was under some kind of spell at the moment. Like this was a real date, something he hadn't done in a long time. And he didn't want to break the spell just yet.

He ordered a couple of glasses of red wine.

"So, what else did Buck tell you about me?" Emma asked, in a slightly nervous tone.

Dean panicked only slightly, but recovered when he remembered the story Buck had given him. "Just that you work with a friend of his at a… law firm?" She nodded, smiling. He chuckled. "Right. Um, he said that you expressed wishes to be set up. And lucky for me, I happened to have requested the same from him not too long before that."

"I usually don't do the whole blind date thing," she admitted. "You never know who you're gonna meet. For all I know you could be married or, I don't know, store body parts in your freezer." Dean mouth dropped slightly, unsure how to respond. She smirked, "But I was a little short on cash this week and needed a free meal."

Dean chuckled at her joke. She was funny. "Yeah, I don't usually do this either. You're right though, you never know who you'll end up meeting. Luckily you weren't a 95 year old woman… or a man."

"Is that all it takes to keep from turning your head?" she asked with a giggle.

He shrugged. "Well, they still would have had a good time. Just not in the same way." She laughed again, moving a stray curl behind her ear. "So, why don't you fill in a little about yourself that Buck seemed to withhold?"

She straightened up a little. "Well, um. Today's my birthday."

His brow creased. He wasn't much for celebrating birthdays, hell he couldn't remember the last time he even celebrated his own. But his life wasn't exactly normal. And from what he gathered, normal people usually celebrated their birthdays. They didn't spend it on a blind date with a stranger. "And you're spending it with me? I mean, I'm not much of the celebrating type, but don't people usually spend their birthdays with friends?"

"I'm… kind of a loner," she said tentatively.

He nodded. "And you don't live near any family?"

"No family to live near," she said with a shrug.

The apathetic way she said that struck a chord for Dean. "Everyone has family."

She released a breathless laugh, "Technically. But people usually know who they are." She rose a brow. "Ready to run?"

He chuckled, shaking his head. "I don't scare that easy, believe me."

She smiled, a breath of relief leaving her lungs. "So tell me, Dean. What is it that you do for a living? Buck didn't give me much to work with."

"Well, uh," he was going to give her the usual: worked in the family business with his brother, nothing exciting. But he remembered the role he was supposed to be playing. Buck had wanted to make sure that she knew he worked for the FBI, that way it wouldn't be strange later if he ended up asking about the case and offering to help. So he pulled out his badge. "Actually, I'm sort of in my own line of justice work," he flipped it open, she rose an eye brow, "I work for the FBI."

Emma laughed, slightly nervous. "Are you sure you're allowed to show me this?"

"Off the clock," he chuckled. "For now."

"Alright, so that covers business. But what about you? No wait, let me guess," she said with a playful smile as she leaned forward a little. "Umm, you are handsome, charming…"

Dean smiled, and he felt his cheeks deepen a little. "Go on."

Her eyes narrowed a little, her expression changing from playful to interrogating. "The kind of guy who – and now, stop me if I get this wrong – engages in credit card fraud, breaking and entering, grave desecration, identity theft, and impersonating the cops."

Dean's smile fell, and the defenses he had dropped suddenly flew up full shield. The spell was broken. "You're a policeman."

"Police _person_, actually," she said with a smirk. She pulled out her own badge and laid it next to Dean's on the table.

Dean laughed, leaning back into his seat and shook his head. "Buck, you idiot."

"Don't blame him," she shrugged. "He got caught infiltrating our facilities. When we confiscated his wallet, we noticed a business card. On the back was your name: Dean Winchester. Right there, written in pencil with a number right underneath it. But, see, here's the thing," she leaned forward, raising her brow and tilting her head, "according to our records, you were dead – for the third time, I believe. How does it feel to be back from the grave?"

He couldn't help it, he laughed. "Oh, sweetheart. You have no idea."

Her smile dropped. "I'm surprised you're still here. I half expected you to flip the table over and make a run for it."

Picking up his glass, he took a sip and shrugged. "If you knew I was coming, you probably knew what I was driving. In fact, if I had to guess, you've probably already put a boot on my car. That is, if Buck gave you that information too."

"I do apologize for my tardiness," she smirked. "It _is_ a nice Impala."

He smiled proudly. "So what's the use? Plus, I think you like me."

"Excuse me?" she asked, her smile dropping as she rose an eye brow.

"Well, it took you quite a while to finally drive the nail in. But not until after you told me about yourself."

She shook her head, "I could have been lying."

"So you don't think I'm handsome and charming?" he asked, faking an insulted face. She rolled her eyes and he shrugged. "You _could_ have been lying. But you weren't, well except for the law firm thing."

"I do work with lawyers."

He smiled, "Say, should we tell the waiter it's your birthday? Maybe we'll get a free cake! Or pie, you think they have birthday pies?"

Her mouth had dropped slightly and her brow had creased as she listened to him. "Mr. Winchester –"

"Dean," he said with a smile. "We are on a date, remember? No need to be so formal."

"_Dean_," she hissed, annoyance dripping from her lips. "I don't think you realize how much trouble you're in. You've got torture and mass murder sitting at the top of your record. Detective Henderson reported you and your brother dead just hours before he himself died. And then a few years later you and your brother's faces were plastered over every wanted poster in America just before an autopsy report said that you both died in a shoot out in yet another sheriff station. And yet here you are in the flesh. How exactly do you explain that?"

"So what was Buck doing breaking into your work?" Dean asked, ignoring Emma's question. "I mean, I know he's not exactly the brightest. But even he should know better than to try and break into a police station and get _caught_."

Emma sighed, but she decided that as long as he wasn't running, she would amuse him. "Said there was something going on. We've had a couple officers get into accidents, most of them are in the group I work with. He said he was here to help save us. Can you believe that? Was spouting out stuff about ghosts and spirits. The guy's a nut case."

Dean chuckled, "Oh, you have no idea. So how did you talk him into setting me up?"

"Well, after we ran his name in the computers, turns out he also had quite a list of charges against him. Most of them were similar to yours – excluding the torture and murder. We threatened to send him to prison –"

"Unless he got you me."

She smiled, confirming that he was right.

He picked up a piece of the bread that sat in the middle of the table, pulling at a little piece and popping it into his mouth. "So what's going on with your partners then?"

"That's none of your concern."

"Humor me," he shrugged. "We have to get through this date somehow – might as well have a bit of light conversation to go along with it."

Her eyes narrowed. "I should be taking you in right now."

"But you're not going to," he smiled. "Because I think you're curious about why Buck was even here. How he knew that something weird was happening." She inhaled sharply. "I think you don't think Buck's talk about ghosts and spirits is so nutty."

"Don't be ridiculous," she said, a little too hostile. "There's no such thing."

He scrunched his brow, "No one likes a skeptic."

She leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table, "Is that what you like to tell yourself? You do these bad things and then, what? Blame it on ghosts? Is that what happened in St. Louis? A _ghost _tortured and killed that young woman?"

"A shape shifter, actually."

Emma made a disgusted face, "You sick –"

"Look at my face," he interrupted, leaning forward and imitating her posture. "I did not do anything to that woman, or the one in Baltimore. I did not do anything to Detective Hendrickson. In fact, I was trying to save them. I didn't commit any mass murders." He scrunched his brow, inhaling through his teeth sharply, "I can't really say I'm not guilty of the fraud, impersonation, or breaking and entering though."

She stared at him for a few seconds, looking from one eye to the other.

"Come on, Emma. You have been reading me all night. At first I thought it was just a lawyer thing, but now I know. The _only _thing I've lied about tonight has been this," he put his finger on his badge. "Everything else is honest. Especially Buck not mentioning how attractive you are."

She scoffed, rolling her eyes. "You could have some mental disorder that makes you believe that what you're saying is really true. And just because you believe something is true doesn't make it real."

Dean clutched his chest, "How insulting. Your words hurt. Do I look like someone with a mental disorder?" She rose her a brow. "Don't answer that."

"Mr. Winchester -" he held up his hand. "_Dean_. Will you be going with me to the station willingly, or do I need to call the swat team I have on standby?"

He held up his finger, "I will go to the station with you willingly, _Emma_. But only if we stay and finish dinner. And you can ask me anything you want and I will be completely honest with you – but only if you offer me the same."

She hesitated, thinking over his proposal. She tapped her fingers against her glass a few times, then brought it to her lips. He wasn't lying, at least from what she could tell. After she swallowed, she rose her glass, "Deal."

He smiled, knowing full well that she would agree, his proposal was too good to pass up. He rose his own glass and tapped it against hers. This was going to be an interesting date.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: This chapter is a quick one, only because I decided to post this one and the one after separately instead of together like I had planned. Anyway, Emma's side of the story! I own nothing, enjoy! :)**

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It was easy for Emma to convince her superior that she should take on this mission alone.

When she moved to Colorado and joined the academy a few years ago, she'd already had over ten years of experience as a Bail Bonds Person. And in that profession she'd made sure to keep up on certain safety protocols and weapon training. She'd graduated earlier than most of her fellow students and dove straight into the world of solving crime.

So when she personally caught and disarmed Buck Cavanagh as he was scrimmaging through her desk in the middle of the night, she felt like this case was something she needed to take care of herself. She was alone in the station that night, but well equipped to handle the perp. The overgrown child, as she could only describe him as, was so flustered about being caught that he could only trip over his own words as he tried to explain exactly what he was doing there.

A ghost, he had finally said; that was what had done it. _Done what? _she had asked.

_"Killed your men." _

At first she thought it was a sick joke; someone taunting her for the accident that she'd been involved in on the job earlier that month that had cost the life of one of her fellow officers. A police dog had been acting up over the couple of days prior, acting very violent and skittish – which mixed together caused several officers to be bitten or snarled at when they came anywhere near the animal. The vet couldn't tell yet what was wrong with the canine, whether there was a virus or some kind of medical imbalance happening that was causing the behavior. It was just Emma and two other officers, Bryan and Jeff, on duty that night at the station. Somehow, the dog managed to escape its cage the same time that Jeff stepped outside to take a smoke break. It was the screams that drove Emma and Bryan outside just in time to see Jeff's body being mauled by the animal.

The canine was dead less than a minute of Bryan pulling out his gun. Jeff was dead in thirty.

But Buck had said men, as in more than one. And as far as Emma knew, Jeff had been the only casualty their station had lost.

_"He's just the first. There are others, right? Who have gotten hurt; seriously injured?"_

He was right. Two of her fellow officers had broken bones and internal bleeding after getting in a car crash in her police car just a few weeks ago. And her partner had gotten seriously injured with very severe burns after there was a gun mishap just last week. The lack of officers was the reason why she was on duty alone that night.

It wasn't his knowledge on the incidents that caused her worry, but that he said that Jeff was just the first. She took it as a threat, and as soon as she did he began to back pedal. He said he could help and that if he didn't soon, the ghost would come back and she would lose more of her men.

She didn't take him seriously, hell she didn't even see him as a threat. She could read him, it was one of the things that had helped her the most through the academy. She could tell when anyone was lying and she usually had a person's profile down after just a few minutes with them.

And Buck was just an overgrown child spouting off about fairy tales.

It wasn't until she began looking through his wallet that she really got interested. That's when she found the business card. She'd recognized the name, having been on their most wanted list just over a year or so ago. He was a mass murderer, his killings having gone viral through security videos and people catching them on their cell phones. But he and his brother were dead – at least, that's what the official reports had said.

She was curious how long ago Buck had been in contact with him, so she decided to start by seeing how long the dentist whose information was printed on the front had been around. After doing some digging, she was surprised to find out that he'd only been in practice for a year, the building was built only eleven months ago – less than the year and or so of the supposed death.

She started doing the research, and found his police record – his _real _police record. He'd started off with some minor infractions: a few juvie records of shop lifting, trespassing, fake ID, and even a stolen car or two.

Emma shrugged those off. She had a juvie record herself; hell, she even had gone through some jail time.

But as he got older, his record got worse… and weird. There was credit card fraud painted throughout the pages, with breaking and entering, identity theft, and impersonating the cops sewn in between. It was the grave desecration that caused Emma's brow to crease, wondering how and why someone would be caught doing something like that – more than once. But it was torture and murders that were his major red marks – and his deaths.

Emma had never seen it before: three reported deaths. One body, one explosion, and one autopsy report. And yet twice, he'd reappeared – and again now.

That's when she started her interrogation with Buck.

First she asked him again why he was there. He began asking her questions; weird questions. Like whether the temperature ever just randomly dropped at times. Or if the lights in the office or in her apartment ever malfunctioned, causing them to flicker. Or if the plumbing had been acting up. And the last question, if she felt a strange kind of energy around her at times.

Though she tried to hide it, his questions were eerily accurate to her current situation. She'd recent had to call her landlord multiple times during the last month to complain about power outages, plumbing, and air conditioning problems. Each time, when the maintenance came to look – there was nothing wrong. And yet still, in the middle of the night when her air was supposed to be set on 75 degrees, she ended up pulling her comforter clear up to her neck in an attempt to keep herself warm. Then there were the nightmares… but those weren't exactly strangers to her nightly slumbers. Though, lately the alcohol she usually used to numb the dreams weren't helping as much as it used to.

But ghosts? That was ridiculous. That wasn't why she had him here.

After a few minutes of interrogation and threatening to send him off to a state prison, Buck agreed to help. Emma was the one who came up with the plan after Buck told her that the best way to draw him out was through asking him to help with a certain case. So they came up with the blind date posing as a way to question the witness.

She listened as he made the call, making sure that Buck didn't deviate from their plan or try to warn him in any way. The date was set for the next night.

The blind date bit was an easy one for Emma – she'd done it a hundred times. She picked out her favorite pink dress; it was tight and short, but didn't cause a fuss if she needed to start sprinting after someone. The heels were always a tricky bit, but over the years she'd actually learned how to run in heels at an impressive speed. But tonight she didn't plan on doing any running.

It hadn't taken long for Emma to find the car: a gorgeous black '67 Impala. She almost felt guilty putting the boot on it, but she had to make sure he wasn't gonna make a run for it. She had his mug shot in her purse, making sure to memorize what he looked like so that it wouldn't be hard to recognize him.

She was late, something she made sure of that way he would be waiting for her. She walked through the front door and began to look around until her eyes landed on the familiar face. A handsome face, she had to admit. Very handsome, actually. Especially in his suit.

_"Dean?" _she'd asked in a pseudo-nervous voice as she approached him.

The beginning had been easy; she could immediately tell he was a sucker for a pretty face and a tight dress. He only made her honestly blush once, when he called her pretty. She would chastise herself for that later.

Emma wasn't sure why she'd told him it was her birthday, but it was true. And it was the best bit of 'tell me about yourself' information she could give out without really telling anything about herself. But she noticed that he seemed genuinely concerned when he wondered why she wasn't spending it with friends or family.

When he said he worked for the FBI, she knew immediately that he was lying. Not because she already knew everything about him, but because she could read him. It wasn't that he was easy to read, not like Buck or some of the rowdy hoodlums they brought into the station. It was more like the lie was an attempt to push himself away, where the honest way he was flirting and talking with her before felt more inviting and warm. It was like a mirror reflecting her own defense mechanism. And for only a split second, she was shaken by it.

And really, she had been surprised when he didn't run or try to get away from her. He was smart, she definitely had to give him that. But honestly, he was annoying.

When he said she liked him, she felt her heart start to beat faster. How on earth could she like him? She was a respected member of the law and he was a criminal, a convicted murderer no less.

For some reason, she was having a hard time calling him a murderer. In her ability to profile people, it was usually easy for her to tell immediately whether or not the perp was guilty. But with Dean it wasn't that simple. To Emma, he carried himself like a soldier; like someone who had been through battle more than once. But a soldier of what, she didn't know.

So of course she agreed to his proposal. As long as he wasn't running and was willing to answer whatever question she wanted, she was willing to play.


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: Last one for the night! Chapters in the future may be a tad more longer, just so that I can stuff more in each without it all being broken up. Now that I'm posting to here, it'll be easier to accomplish that. I own nothing; Enjoy! :)**

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"You ordered soup?" Dean asked with a chuckle after the waiter left. "Why is it that women always order the lightest thing on the menu?"

Emma rolled her eyes. "Because soup is easy and quick to finish, which will in turn end the date sooner."

"My dates are _never _quick to finish," he said with a wink. Emma rose an unimpressed brow as he began to shake his head. "Aww, come on. The date has just started! Besides, I ordered a steak. And the date doesn't end until we _both _finish our meals. And dessert, remember? We have to celebrate your birthday somehow. Maybe if I tell them it's my birthday too, we'll get extra!"

"It's not January yet," she found herself saying before she could stop herself.

Dean took a deep breath, pursing his lips together as he leaned back in his chair. He scratched his forehead before he looked back up at Emma, then he smirked. "Someone's done their homework. Come on, what else do you know about me?"

Emma knew everything; all the dirty deeds. But for some reason, she felt like he was almost ashamed of his record. Like she was judging him unfairly – crazy, she kept reminding herself. So instead, she decided to go a different direction. "Well, I know you like sunsets, long walks on the beach, and frisky women."

He laughed – a genuine throw-your-head-back, hand-clutching-chest laugh. She looked around and noticed the eyes of the tables around them. At first she was worried, she was on a job after all. But they were all smiling at the couple; to them Emma was just a woman who had made her date laugh so loud he forgot he was in a fancy restaurant. And for the second time that night, she couldn't shut down the flush in her cheeks as she tried to contain her own smile.

"Alright," he finally said once he caught his breath, "well played. So, you've seen my confession video. How was the picture?"

"It was good," Emma played along. "The lighting was a little unflattering, but you know how it can be in those interrogation rooms. I must say though, you looked much younger than you do now – but I guess dying multiple times can do that to a person."

Dean nodded, a humored smile still on his lips. "So that's what we're starting with?"

"Well, when a person dies three times and then makes a comeback, it's a little hard to concentrate on much else."

"Actually, I've only _technically _died twice," he said with a shrug. "And they had nothing to do with those reported deaths."

Emma felt herself inhale sharply. He was still being facetious, but he wasn't lying. Whether it was true or not, he genuinely believed that he had actually died and come back to life twice. Regardless of his sanity, she wanted to know something. "How did you come back to life then?"

"Angels," he said simply as he grabbed another roll of bread and began to butter it.

"Right," she said sarcastically. "So angels are real, too?"

Dean shook his head, swallowing his bite. "You already asked your question, now it's my turn." Emma opened her mouth to retort, but he rose his brow and gave her a pointed look. She rolled her eyes, sighing as she leaned forward in her chair and grabbed her glass, taking a sip before she gestured for him to continue. "Are you a religious person?"

The question caught her of guard, it wasn't one she got or talked about often. "Sure," she said with a shrug.

Dean sighed. "Come on, Emma. You promised it was going to be mutual honesty. Don't hold back on me now."

She took a deep breath, "Fine. I guess, technically, no. If there is some kind of God, I think He abandoned us long ago. I don't believe in some master plan by a mighty being. I think shit just happens; to some more than others. And if He is up there, I don't think he gives a damn about me."

Emma had kept her head down as she gave her answer, pulling at the deepest corner of her mind for that response. It was true; that's how she honestly felt about it. With her life, it was hard to feel like she was loved by this mystical magical being who was supposed to be a guiding light for all His children. When she looked up, she immediately felt like her words had made her vulnerable. Dean was looking at her with an empathetic look on his face that could have made the faintest heart weep. Not pity, just understanding.

"What happened that made you think that way?" he asked finally.

She cocked her head, raising an eye brow. "I thought it was one question at a time."

He smirked. "Yes, angels are real. But they're major dicks. Your turn."

With a deep, annoyed sigh, she continued. "Growing up I'd always been told about how great the church was. How God was looking over me and the children like me. How I was never truly alone, because I had the love of God. So, when I was thirteen, and things had gotten really bad, I ran away. I ran to this huge, beautiful Catholic church a couple blocks over. It always looked like a castle to me when we'd drive by it; I always felt like if there was ever going to be something _divine_ happening, it would be there." She took a minute to run her fingers through her hair as Dean just continued to watch and listen. "It was the middle of the night, I was soaked from the rain – and I get smacked by an old nun who thought I was breaking in and causing a mess on their shiny marble floors and satin cushions. I was nothing but a worthless child to this woman who didn't want anything to do with me and called me a disappointment to my parents and that I would never be holy in the eyes of the Lord if I continued on my path."

"What a bitch," Dean said, breaking the small spell Emma seemed to be under as she went on with her story. She looked up, somewhat shocked until he realized his own interruption. "I'm sorry."

Emma chuckled, remembering the similar name she'd called the old hag after the incident. "It's okay. She was. The other kids and I found ways of torturing her later on."

Dean laughed, "I'd like to hear some of those stories."

"Too bad it's my turn," she said in her authoritative voice, sitting up a little straighter. She could have asked about the murders, about the torture, about _how _he managed to fake his death. But he had asked her something personal; made her tell a story she'd never told anyone before. And she wanted him to feel the same sense of vulnerability. "Why haven't you had an official place of residence since 1979?"

Dean took a large gulp from his drink, making a face as the wine ran down his throat. "God, this stuff is awful. Next time I'm gonna get us a bottle of whiskey instead of this crap."

Emma laughed lightly, shaking her head. Wine was a good dinner drink, especially at a restaurant like this. But a bottle of whiskey was her poison of choice on nights when the nightmares were really bad; in fact, she had just restocked this morning. It was going to be her bitter treat for catching the Winchester.

Although she could still feel the small smile lingering on, she kept a stern gaze fixated on him. She wasn't gonna let him out of the question. He stirred his glass, watching as the liquid swirled around before he set it back down on the table. She could tell she'd hit a sensitive spot, and she secretly felt her pride level rise. He looked up and saw her waiting on him to continue. He sighed, then ran his hand across his face.

That's when the waiter brought them their meal: her soup, his steak and vegetables.

He pulled out his fork and knife when Emma remembered that with this guy's record, he could probably turn even the dullest steak knife in to a serious weapon. She leaned forward and pulled his plate towards her.

"Wha-" he began, wondering why she was taking away his food. She gestured for him to pass her his silverware. Reluctantly, he pushed it across the table. "You can't be serious. What are the people around us gonna think? It's not exactly common for the date to cut her boyfriend's meal."

"One, you're not my boyfriend," she corrected, pointing the knife at him before she started cutting his steak into bite sized pieces. "Two, this is considered a weapon. You did agree to cooperate, but I don't exactly trust you. And three, everyone will just think you've got some kind of brain deficiency and you need help cutting your food," she gave a sarcastic grin.

"I feel like a child," he wined, folding his arms as he pouted. "I'd rather just pick it up and eat it with my hands."

She chuckled, "This is an upscale restaurant, Dean." He huffed as she passed him his plate back. "So, you were saying."

"Well," he began, and she could tell he wasn't really sure how to start. He took his fork and speared a square of meat, inspecting it before popping it into his mouth. "Technically, it was my last real home. We traveled around a lot, as I'm sure you read in my file." Her face softened, knowing all too well what it felt like to be moved around, never having a solid place to call home. She pretended not to harp on it, blowing on a spoonful of her soup as he continued. "I guess dad just never found a place that was worthy of calling home if our mom wasn't with us. The closest thing I had after that was with this family friend who let us crash with him often. He was more of a father figure to me and my brother than our own dad sometimes. Not that dad didn't try, he was just sort of… _broken_ after mom died." Dean was fidgeting with his food as he talked.

He was trying to make his story sound dull, but his voice was giving away how deep and personal this subject really was. She began to wonder how many times exactly he'd talked about this; she guessed less than a handful. And especially not with a stranger.

"There came a point in my life where I began to think that I'd never get that: a home. A normal, safe, place of my own. Somewhere I could actually put things in a dresser or drawers without worrying about having to leave unexpectedly. Having a mattress that was more comfortable than the bench seat in my car." He smiled, a fond almost dreamy-like look on his face. "It took almost 30 years," a small chuckle of disbelief leaving his lungs, "but we found it, my brother and me. Can you believe it? I even have one of those beds that forms to your body," he smirked, "it remembers me."

She couldn't help her own genuine smile. He was being sincere with her, completely honest from start to finish. So he hadn't lived anywhere after 1979 because that's when his mother had died, and his father moved them around their whole life. Doing what, he hadn't said. But now he had a home, and from the sound of it, a really nice one. Emma almost felt guilty when she realized that she would be the one that would be taking him away from that home – something she herself had never truly had. She wanted to know more about it, but it wasn't her turn.

Dean cleared his throat as he tilted his head slightly, "You said _and children like me_ earlier. And you implied that you didn't know who your family was. What happened?"

Emma could feel her body stiffen; she hadn't meant to give away anything like that and she was scolding herself for giving him that opportunity. It wasn't like her situation was exactly a secret, although most of the personal details regarding it were usually kept close to her chest. You just weren't supposed to be sharing such personal information with a guy you were supposed to be bringing in to jail. Although, she'd already sort of broken that principle, so rules be damned.

Emma took a long gulp of her drink before shrugging, mirroring his attempt to make what she was saying sound less important than it really was. "I'm an orphan; it's really that simple."

"That sounds anything but simple," he said softly.

She sighed. "What do you want me to say? That I was left on the side of the road when I was less than a day old? That I lived in the foster care system for my entire childhood? That I never had a real family and I still don't know why I was abandoned? That I've been taking care of myself since I was sixteen years old after I ran away?" She scoffed, "Is that enough of a sob story for you?"

He nodded, rising his brow as he continued eating. He was more than half way done with his steak; she was just a few spoonfuls away from hitting the bottom of her bowl.

"And you've never come close to having your own family?" he asked.

She felt her heart start to beat faster, blood rushing to her face. Her back straightened in an attempt to make herself taller as her expression hardened. She was rebuilding the wall, pushing Dean away and reminding herself that she was on a job.

"Emma?" he said, concerned with her sudden mood shift.

She shook her head, pulling out her purse and throwing a sufficient amount of money on the table to cover their meal and tip. Standing up, she leaned against the table next to him. "The time for games is over, Mr. Winchester. We're going to the station, and you _will _come willingly."

"So, no dessert?" he asked, scrunching his brow.

"Let's go. _Now._"


End file.
